Have Some Faith in Me
by Xtina Jones
Summary: He lets her walk out like last time and he doesn't go after her like last time and he wonders if he ever really learned anything. Post 2x09 Will/Mac angst set several months after "Election Night Part II"
1. Chapter 1

So I needed to write some angst after writing and reading all of the fluff happening on here post 2x09. In my opinion things are not going to be smooth sailing for Mac and Will just because they're engaged. They still have a lot of crap that needs to get worked out. This story is my attempt at addressing that. The first two chapters are kind of weird format-wise and style-wise but stick with me. 

* * *

He lets her walk out like last time and he doesn't go after her like last time and he wonders if he ever really learned anything. 

* * *

He finds the ring and the note on the kitchen counter the next morning after noticing that some of her things are gone from the apartment. He grabs the closest object and hurls it across the room at the wall. The vase shatters as the yellow daisies she had picked in the park last weekend slide to the floor in a puddle of water and glass. 

* * *

He's drunk and sitting on the floor flipping through photo albums within two hours of discovering the note. He spent the first hour sitting on the couch, scenes from last night and the days, weeks, months, and years playing on repeat in his head. Now the almost-empty bottle of newly opened scotch feels heavy in his hand as he lifts it to take the final swig. He can't remember the last time he was this drunk. But he can remember the last time alcohol failed to numb the pain of her departure. In those days he believed he could never hurt that much again. He might have been wrong. 

* * *

He picks up his phone and starts to dial her number more than twenty times but he doesn't know what to say. When he finally hits 'Call' he gets sent straight to voicemail. His phone ends up in broken pieces on the floor with the vase. 

* * *

When he's through torturing himself with the photo album he chain smokes on the balcony until he's forced to root around the apartment for his hidden packs. He flushes these down the toilet one by one, watching as each cigarette swirls and swirls and swirls until it's swallowed up by the rushing water. She'd always hated that he smoked. 

* * *

She regrets leaving the ring behind immediately. She misses its comforting, reassuring weight on her finger and the luxury of just having to glance at it to think of him. It's been off her finger for five minutes and she already hates herself. 

* * *

When she gets back to her apartment it's dark and cold like the weather outside and the feeling spreading in her chest. She tosses the random items she took with her on the floor by the door and stumbles to her couch. She sinks onto it wearily and rests her forehead on her palms. The tears come swiftly and furiously and for the first time in a long time he's not there to wipe them away. 

* * *

She doesn't sleep that night. She drinks a bottle of red wine and writes lists of all the things she's done wrong and that he's done wrong and then she shreds them up and spends the next hour clicking through pictures of the two of them on her laptop. Halfway through the second bottle of wine she chucks her phone at her kitchen wall and watches disinterestedly as the battery skitters across the floor. It's been three hours since she left and he hasn't called. 

* * *

She puts on a Van Morrison record around five in the morning and slides down the wall of her living room in defeat and exhaustion. The half-empty second bottle of wine sits abandoned on her kitchen counter. She drains the glass in her hand, tilts her head back, and closes her eyes. She lets Van Morrison's voice try to lull her to sleep but it's not the same and it only sharpens the ache that's settled in her chest. It doesn't erase the images from earlier in the night that repeatedly flash through her mind. 

* * *

When the Van Morrison record plays out she doesn't move from the floor. She lets the fuzz of the record player fill the room and grate against her skin and her skull until she can't take it anymore and she finally heaves herself up and shuts it off. The silence in the room is deafening and oppressive. She falls back onto the couch and runs through every little moment of the last seven years as the early morning light filters into her darkened apartment. He'd always loved mornings. 


	2. Chapter 2

It's the middle of the day and she's been gone for twelve hours. He doesn't know how he survived their separation the last time because this is killing him. He knows he fucked up, he knows he said and did the wrong thing. He knows he let her down, he knows he broke his promise to her. But what he doesn't know is how to fix it, how to bring her back. Because if he's this messed up after only twelve hours he doesn't want to know what comes next. He keeps hearing the slamming of the door when she left.

* * *

When he starts to sober up he returns to the balcony and he writes. He writes her short apology notes and long letters that he'll never let her read and bad poetry that deserves to be burned. Eventually he shreds the notes and the poems and tosses the pieces into the wind. He folds up the letters and locks them in his safe with her ring. Then he pulls out his guitar and writes her songs but the lyrics and melodies are carried away on the late afternoon breeze.

* * *

It's almost dinner time when he retreats back inside but he's not hungry even though he hasn't eaten all day. He stands in the middle of his apartment and stares at the door, willing it to open, willing her to appear. When she doesn't he turns around and trudges back to his bedroom. He sinks down onto the mattress and just sits there, unsure of himself and his purpose. It's never been clearer to him than right now in this moment of weakness and desperation how badly he needs her.

* * *

'_If we can't trust one another, then the past will always hang over us and we'll never let ourselves be truly happy. Right now we're hurting each other and we can't go on like this. Have some faith in me, Billy. I love you.  
__ - MacKenzie'__  
_

* * *

It's been the longest twelve hours of her life and she knows she could end her misery. She knows she could pick up her phone and call him or get on her computer and email him or get up off her couch and just go to him, but she can't. She's too ashamed and she's too weak and she's too afraid. She doesn't know what she'd find if she went back. She doesn't know what he would say, she doesn't know what he would do. And right now she'd rather imagine the worst than have to experience it.

* * *

When her headache becomes too much to bare she forces herself to move from the couch to the kitchen where she dry swallows four aspirin even though there's a glass of water in her hand. She stays in the kitchen for a while, her head bent down as her palms press into the cool granite countertop supporting her weight. She thinks she hears a knock at the door and she jerks her head up but she's only imagined it. He's not here and once again she has no one to blame but herself. She was the one who walked out.

* * *

It's early evening when she manages to consume a piece of toast. She can't find her phone battery and she curses her drunken stupidity. She won't survive much longer like this. He is her world, always has been, always will be. He needs to know this, he _must_ know this. But she doesn't know how to make him see it, how to make him believe it. Haven't they suffered enough? How many times do they have to prove themselves to each other? She can't be without him, and that's what it comes down to.

* * *

"_I want to believe you, but I can't! There are still mornings when I wake up and if you're not in the bed I think you're gone. There are still moments when we're together and I picture you fucking him. There are still days when I'm convinced you're going to find someone else and leave me again. I thought all that crap was gonna go away, but it hasn't! Maybe it never will."_


End file.
